


The Belden-Jones Chronicles

by vanillafluffy



Category: The Three Investigators | Die drei ??? - Various Authors, The Trixie Belden Mysteries - Julie Campbell Tatham & Kathryn Kenny
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Reboot of sorts, Shorts, all grown up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 16:37:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 12,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15490125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillafluffy/pseuds/vanillafluffy
Summary: I've been writing some case fic, mostly with Trixie and Jupiter, but because a lot of it is being done for prompts, there are also plenty of fluffy little ficlets accumulating that I wanted to collect all in one place--this is that place.If you're interested in reading the series from the beginning, the first story is "The Guy in the Baby Blue Hearse".Chapter One:Trixie Belden and Jupiter Jones--finding something interesting in a stack of old newspapers





	1. Old News is Good News

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brumeier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/gifts).



“Extra! Extra! Read all about it! My uncle is a lunatic!” Jupiter Jones grumbles as he sorts through the stack of newspapers..

Trixie Belden glances over at him. She has a stack of her own papers to scrutinize, which she’s doing with considerably less belly-aching. “Why do you say that? You’ve told me more than once that people hide things in the craziest places.”

“They do--did I tell you about the time we found a pillow full of money?” It’s hot in the sorting room, which is one reason Jupe is grouchy. “But newspapers?”

“One time, Honey and I found a key in a stack of newspapers, and it turned out to be important. And those were nasty old newspapers, not bagged like these are.” 

The stack of newspapers that Titus Jones hauled back to the salvage yard from an estate sale dates back to the 1950’s, according to the wife of the man who’d collected them and carefully stored them in clear plastic. Most of them have darkened from age, and some are crumbling within their wrappers. Still, Titus insists, there might be something good in there--so they’re charged with sorting them.

So far, they’ve found papers with headlines that the collector had thought would be historic--various election results, the assassination attempt on President Reagan, the first Space Shuttle flight, the Apollo 11 moon landing. Occasionally, a commemorative magazine will emerge from between to papers in its own neat sleeve of plastic--the wedding of Prince Charles and Lady Diana Spencer, the Bicentennial. John Glenn orbiting Earth…..

“Hello!” exclaims Jupe, brightening. He holds up a magazine. “Playboy, issue number one!”

“Oh, please!” says Trixie, rolling her eyes. “A girlie magazine?”

Jupe is grinning broadly. “That’s Marilyn Monroe on the cover,” he tells her, and Trixie, startled, takes a closer look. “If I remember correctly, that’s worth enough to remunerate us for whatever Uncle Titus spent on the rest of this crap.” 

Thus vindicated, Trixie smiles. “See, I told you--you never know what you’re going to find!”

…


	2. Boo-boo Hullaballoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trixie Belden and Jupiter Jones arguing over whether an injury is severe enough to go to the hospital/clinic/urgent care.

"You need stitches, Jupe!"

""It's just a scratch. Don't worry, I've had a tetanus booster in the last year, it'll be fine"

"Wait, you're going to bandage it with duct tape?! Are you kidding? There's a perfectly good first aid kit right over there!."

"I have work to do. This isn't going to fall off while I'm trying to finish up."

"I swear, if you don't let me treat that properly, I'm going to tell Aunt Mathilda on you!"

"Okay, okay. Trixie, you worry too much. But, thanks."

..


	3. Sunset with Chickens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trixie Belden + Mart Belden, twilight talk after a day working the farm

California sunsets are different from the ones in Sleepyside, they both agree, sitting on the front porch watching the glorious oranges and purples paint the western horizon.

“I still can’t get over how warm it is,,,in January,” Trixie says, giving her rocker a push with one sneaker-shod toe to get it going again. Her Bob-White jacket is draped over the back in case she needs it after the sun goes down, but at the moment, it’s a mild 71 degrees.

Her brother Mart is tipped onto the two back legs of a straight-backed chair, too tired to rock, or at least that’s the excuse he gave for letting her have the other seat. “It’s still chilly first thing in the morning, though.”

“Well, sure--but that’s put-on-a-jacket cold, not shovel-a-path-to-the-hen-house cold,” she points out. 

Peach and lavender are the colors of the sky now, and the farm buildings look like inky silhouettes, their dilapidated condition less apparent in the waning light. Mart smiles. “Did you hear, the east coast is having another blizzard? Poor Bobby, he’s going to be shoveling til Easter.”

”Poor kid,” Trixie agrees. Their younger brother is the only child still living at Crabapple Farm, which means he’ll have to do a lot of the chores that used to be shared between herself, Mart and Brian. “Maybe we should invite him out for spring break.”

“Oh, well…” Mart yawns, although there’s still a band of brightness just above the treeline. “We may not have to shovel snow, but we’re still working out butts off. And speaking of chickens,” He brings the front legs of his chair back to earth, “I need to go check on that incubator. We can’t afford to lose those chicks.”

“Should I get ready to bake some bricks?” Trixie asks in all seriousness. She remembers that strategy from childhood--heating bricks in the oven when their incubator failed, then tucking the bricks under towels in a box, giving the tender chicks a warm place to stay. She’s not even sure where she’d find bricks at this hour--the local hardware store is closed by now.

It’s funny how so much of their childhood has prepared them for working Belden Farms, the citrus grove that Mart invested in a few months ago. Trixie hadn’t expected to live on a farm after she grew up, but here she is, and it’s surprising how comfortable the routine of it all feels, from canning preserves to hatching a clutch of young poultry. That’s still no guarantee they’ll make a success of it, she reminds herself, but it certainly works in their favor!

“There’s a stack of bricks out in the greenhouse, I’ll bring them in if we need them.” Mart stands and stretches. “What’s for dinner?”

Trixie winces. “Tuna casserole?” Tuna is a lot less expensive than ground beef and pasta is downright cheap--but this is the second time it’s been on the menu this week.

Her brother isn’t fussy. “With some of those baby carrots?” he asks hopefully.

The baby carrots are among the first things they’ve harvested. “Sure, I can get those going while the casserole is in the oven.”

Mart strides across the darkening farmyard toward the hen-house, the sky an indigo bowl overhead, while Trixie slides out of the rocking chair. She carefully retrieves her trusty red jacket. She may not need it right this minute, but it’ll get colder now that the sun has gone down. 

..


	4. The Affair of the Anomalous Area Code

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trixie Belden: an unknown number keeps popping up on Trixie's cell phone

The first time the strange number pops up on her phone display, Trixie ignores it. She doesn’t recognize the area code--it certainly isn’t Westchester County--so she shrugs it off as a wrong number or a telemarketer.

It shows up again a couple days later as a missed call, no message. This time, she’s curious enough to look up the area code. Florida? Definitely not anyone she knows!

The mystery number appears twice more, and finally shows the little red bubble indicating they’ve left a message. Trixie plays it back.

“Hi, Trixie, it’s Diana.” Trixie smiles as her friend continues. “Diana Lynch? I hope this is the right number for you? I got it from your mom, but maybe I make a mistake? Anyway, I’d love to hear from you. Bye!”

That sounds like Di, alright--a little hesitant, but with lively enthusiasm underlying it. She calls back at once.

“What in the world are you doing in Florida?” is Trixie’s first question.

“Oh, Daddy took the twins to Orlando for the holidays, and bought them all new phones--he got me one, too. The calling plan was set up down there, so I have a Florida phone number. What about you? California? Tell me all about it! Have you met any movie stars?”

Trixie laughs at Di’s rush of questions. 

“Wow, where do I start? I’m sharing a giant geodesic dome with Mart, who’s bought an orange grove-slash-farm, I’ve got a really neat part-time job at a salvage yard, and it wasn’t exactly meeting movie stars, but I got to be an extra in a few scenes for that daytime drama, _Fame and Fortune_.”

“That sounds like fun,” Di sounds impressed. “Is that something you’re looking to get into, acting? Because I’m doing photography, and I’d love to do your head-shots!”

Comparing herself to the actresses she’s met, Trixie knows she doesn’t have the looks and thinking about the two days of shooting, she doesn’t have the patience, either. “No, that was just a case of being in the right place at the right time. They were filming at the hotel where I was staying, and I got chummy with one of the production guys. Photography, huh? Have you given up painting?”

Diana gives a little squeak, sounding like a kitten that’s been disturbed. “I dabble a little when I’m in the mood, but photography is a different kind of artwork.” She sounds serious, as if she’s thought about the two art-forms at length. 

“And I’m starting to get commissions,” she goes on, “which is great--things like family photos for Christmas cards, engagement pictures, and the reason I didn’t go to Florida was I had two Christmas parties and a family reunion to shoot that week. The first few things I did last spring were for friends of our family, but I’m starting to get word-of-mouth referrals, so people are happy with my work!”

Trixie blinks. Diana Lynch’s family is rich enough that she doesn’t need to work, but apparently she has a thriving career. Whereas she, Trixie, is sorting other people’s junk and dabbling in homemade preserves. The Universe is laughing at her.

They chat for a while longer, and as they say good-bye, Trixie promises to add Di to her contacts. She’s happy to know Diana’s doing well. Successful, in fact. 

So why does she feel like a failure? Neither of them is in college, so what does it matter that Trixie flunked out? Diana’s good fortune doesn’t take anything away from her. Different people, different lives. 

Photography is a different kind of artwork, Diana declared, but hadn’t that sound she’d made at the question been sad? She’d probably like to paint more, but if photography is also artistic, easier and more lucrative…? 

After all, Trixie chides herself, Mr. Lynch may want Diana to be independent. Or maybe it’s she who wants to rely on no one.

It must be nice to have that freedom…still,Trixie is three thousand miles away from where she grew up. She’s minimally dependent on her folks, and while she may not have a clear plan for the rest of her life, she’s seeing the world and trying new things. It’s only failure if she gives up trying. 

With that thought, Trixie adds a new contact to her list.


	5. Trixie Belden, WMD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trixie Belden and Jupiter Jones, taking a day trip

Trixie dances a two-step after she hangs up her phone. She isn’t sure what kind of day trip Jupe has planned, but the idea of spending a day with him outside of work makes her heart beat a little quicker.

“You look perfect,” he says with admiration when he sees her the next morning. “Very cute.”

“You think so?” She’d had doubts--Aunt Mathilda bought her the outfit; it’s definitely not something she would’ve picked out. White capri pants printed with bold red cherries, a sleeveless red top, its neckline ruffled…jeans and tee shirts are her usual style, but if Jupe really likes it….

“Absolutely.” He holds the door of the truck open for her. A moment later, they’re rumbling down the driveway of Belden Farms. 

“We’re going on a picking trip,” he announces, and Trixie feels a stab of dismay. Picking? In this outfit? “I’ve been out there before. It’s incredible--Malachi, the old guy who owns it inherited it from his dad, who was born there, and I don’t think any of them ever threw anything out.”

“Great,” she responds, trying to simulate enthusiasm.

“The trouble is, he sticks to me like a tick. I look at something, and he’s got a twenty minute story about where and when he got it. That’s where you come in. You’re my secret weapon of Malachi distraction.”

Trixie reaches over and wipes the corner of Jupe’s mouth. “You had a canary feather sticking out,” she tells him, sweet as saccharine. “So what, exactly, do you want me to do?”

“Be yourself. Be enthusiastic about his garden, his yard art--his chickens!--it doesn’t matter! Just keep him away from the barn so I can do some serious spelunking.”

“Technically, that means exploring a cave.” Trixie is delighted to be able to one-up Mr. Vocabulary--after all, she’s actually gone spelunking!

Jupe chuckles. “Good point, Trixie. Look, I’ve been out here four or five times now, I know there’s some great stuff in that barn, but I can’t get at any of it with Malachi riding my coat-tails. If you can play wide-eyed and hang on his every word and sweet talk him into showing you around the rest of the place while I put together a good pile of junk to bargain over, that would be outstanding.”

“Sure,” Trixie agrees, relieved to know that she isn’t the one who’s going to be crawling through a grubby old barn in her newest clothes. “How hard can it be?”

Four hours later, on their way back to Belden Farms, Trixie’s outfit is in tatters. She’d stumbled on the step up to Malachi’s house and skinned both knees--the capris are destined to become shorts. When she bent to pet the friendly-looking brown goat in the pen out back, it mistook her ruffled neckline for some botanical delicacy and nibbled it--it’s now much lower-cut than she’s comfortable with, so she’s wearing it backward.

Trixie’s predicaments weren’t in vain--quailing at Jupe’s epithets, Malachi had sold him everything he’d picked for a ridiculously low price. He even threw in a lawn sculpture Trixie had admired. 

Far from being upset, Trixie is in good spirits. “He gave me a tour of his greenhouse,” she enthuses. “My gosh, the flowers he’s got! And he gave me seeds--a whole bunch of them! I’m going to start some at the farm, and send some to Moms--there are some really wild striped pansies--you were so right about that place, Jupe! It’s full of treasures--I can hardly wait to go back!”

One grimy finger swipes the corner of her mouth. “Feather.”


	6. See-cruds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby Belden--being the last Belden kid at home with Moms and Dad

When he was younger, it was a Belden family joke that little Bobby could never keep a “see-crud”. No matter how hard he tried, things “just slipped out”. He was guileless--friendly and open, with no censor between his thoughts and his lips. As he got older, he protested that he wasn’t like that any more…but soon saw that the only way to prove that he could keep secrets was not to tell them. A few more years, and he began to see the value of secrecy. Things like the amount of money he’d saved up--he has plans for it which don’t include his dad arm-twisting him to stick it in the bank and watch it like a hawk. 

Watching his brothers and sister leave home one by one has sparked his desire to get away from Crabapple Farms, where nothing ever changes except the color of the curtains in the kitchen. Bobby’s impatient to see the world, to have adventures the way the older kids all had. Being the ‘baby’ of the family, Moms is hanging onto him like he’s still six years old--talk about ‘smother love’!--and the way Pops goes on about still having him here to help with chores scares him. He doesn’t want to be stuck here for the rest of his life!

At the moment, Bobby’s fifteen and his savings from years of thrift are a little shy of $1200. By the time he graduates at eighteen, he anticipates it’ll be over $2000. Maybe more, if he gets an after-school and/or summer job. Like working at Mr. Tomlin’s riding academy…he wouldn’t spend his savings to ride there--the Manor House is closer, and free--but nobody’s going to pay him for working next door! 

Bobby plays things close to the vest--he makes a show of going to the movies--though not as often as he tells his folks. He talks convincingly about how broke he is after going out with his pals for burgers, and sometimes he can parlay that into extra chores and more money, and all the while, he accrues funds on the DL. He spends money on tools, when he spends it, because they’re a useful investment in his future.

He has a strategy--he takes auto shop classes so he can repair the vehicle he plans to get some day; his dad isn’t thrilled by the idea--he’d prefer his son go in for something more white-collar. With his reputation for guilelessness, Bobby is easily able to convince Pops that it’s just a hobby. 

With Brian away in med school and Mart and Trixie out in California, there’s no one to catch him in his deception except his parents, and as long is he goes through the motions and doesn’t call their attention to the numbers, the senior Beldens don’t notice what’s going on under their roof. ‘Little Bobby’ is very good at keeping see-cruds.

..


	7. Reruns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trixie Belden and Jupiter Jones: Movie night features the show Jupe was in as a kid where he was known as Baby Fatso

There’s a note of excitement in her voice as Trixie calls Jupiter to ask him over for dinner and a movie.

“Sure,” he answers easily. “I’ll even bring the popcorn.”

As promised, he shows up with a box of microwave popcorn, while gets a chuckle from Trixie. She seems unusually pleased with herself. “I did something today that I’ve never done before,” she confides. “I went to the Black Friday sales at OMG this morning.” She grins. “I got a DVD player for my room! And I found--well, you’ll see!” 

“Okay…can I guess? Animal, vegetable or mineral?”

“Something I loved loved loved as a kid!” Knowing her, probably something with horses….

Trixie has already set up the DVD player. One of the things he admires about Trixie is, she’ll at least try to do most things before asking for help. It’s hooked up to the modest flat-screen TV he’d found for her and ready to go.

Together, they push Trixie’s bed against the wall, so they can sit side-by-side, lean back and see the screen. It’s become their usual way to chill.

Trixie pops the DVD into the player and joins Jupiter on the bed. “I haven’t seen this in about ten years,” she says, snuggling up beside him and pushing a button on the remote. “Gosh, I was so surprised when I saw it on the shelf, I grabbed it. I mean, the whole series for $9.99? I would’ve paid twice that!” Coming from Trixie, who doesn’t throw around money, that’s saying something. 

Then the theme song starts, and Jupe freezes. “The Wee Rogues?!” he gasps, horrified.

Trixie stabs the ‘pause’ button, staring at him. “Yes, the Wee Rogues. What’s wrong with that? I loved that show--I used to run home from the bus stop every afternoon to watch it. Of course, it was reruns, but I didn’t care. That was one of the few shows Moms was okay with. I’d watch that, then I had to do chores, have dinner, do homework…Wee Rogues was the highlight of my whole day!”

Jupe pinches the bridge of his nose. “You haven’t seen it since…when?”

“Not since I was ten, maybe? That sounds about right--Bobby was young enough that I used to pretend he was Baby Fatso--” She stops to look at her companion, who is laughing uncontrollably. “I don’t see what’s so funny.”

“You will.”

With a sniff, she pushes ‘play’, only to hit ‘pause’ seconds later as “With Jupiter Jones as ‘Baby Fatso’” flashes onto the screen. She stares at him in incredulity. He laughs harder.

“No way,” she breathes.

“Way. It started when I was three and ran until I was seven. They got enough episodes in the can for syndication, but by then, my folks had died, and Aunt Mathilda is kind of the opposite of a stage mom, so that was that for my acting career.”

“I’m so sorry!” Trixie hugs him. “We don’t have to watch it, if it makes you feel bad.” Her delight of a few minutes ago has faded. 

“You know, I’ve hardly seen any of it,” he admits. “I was so young when we made it, then afterward, I got teased so much about it, that I turned my back on it. But what the heck, that’s twenty years ago. I’m curious to see how it’s held up.”

“It’s funny,” he says after they’ve watched two episodes. “I remember the other kids, but all I can think when I watch Baby Fatso is to notice that he’s hitting his marks and didn’t flub the line. Sometimes, I kind of remember doing scenes multiple times because my co-stars did.”

“You were awfully young,” Trixie defends him. She giggles. “I still can hardly believe that’s you!”

“And you pretended your baby brother was me,” he reminds her.

“Gleeps!” Trixie buries her face in her hands, blushing. She peeks at him through her fingers. “Can I just say, you look nothing like Bobby in real life? And my feelings for you are anything but sisterly!”

“Well, that’s good,” Jupiter says, nuzzling her. “Because Wee Rogues wasn’t that kind of show. Although they’re talking about doing a movie of it--I got a letter about it in with my last check.”

“A Wee Rogues movie?” Trixie is wide-eyed. “And you’d be in it?”

“Oh, a small cameo. They’d have a whole new generation of kids for the cast.”

“Huh. And you’re still making money from the show all these years later?”

“A little. Look at it this way--by buying those DVDs, you and forty-nine other people paid for tonight’s popcorn.”

..


	8. Crimson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trixie Belden gets a makeover--and some Ruby Woo red lipstick

By now, Trixie thinks ruefully, she should know better than to mention her plans to Aunt Mathilda. She’d made the mistake of telling her boss that she and Jupiter were going out to dinner this evening, just making conversation, and the older woman had hustled her out to her hairdresser.

Now Trixie is perched in Bekah’s chair, Aunt Mathilda has disappeared somewhere--and hopefully told somebody at the yard where they’ve gone.

“Loosen up, child,” Bekah urges her. The tall stylist smiles, teeth bright in her dark face. “I know, saying ’Try to relax’ is an oxymoron, but you’re way too tense. This is pampering--it’s a good thing!”

She’s been draped with a plastic cape over the dress she plans to wear tonight. The first time she was here, Bekah told her firmly that under no circumstances was she to cut her hair, that it needed to grow out more so Bekah could start shaping it. Apparently, it’s grown out to her satisfaction, because today she’s measuring and snipping.

“I’m sorry, it’s not you,” Trixie sighs. It’s a big change from all the home-grown haircuts her mother used to give her in the kitchen at Crabapple Farm…Bekah has a much lighter touch. Trixie catches a look at her own reflection as Bekah reaches for something on the counter. “Wow!” she breathes. 

“Uh-uh--no peeking!” Bekah admonishes. “Don’t sound so surprised--I’ve been doing this since you were playing with dolls, little missy!”

“I never really played with dolls,” admits Trixie. “I was too much of a tomboy.”

“Sounds like we should have traded places,” the stylist drawls. “I was always swiping my mama’s products to give my sisters make-overs. Made her so mad--not because she thought it was inappropriate--I was wasting her stuff and not using it right!”

There’s nothing tentative about the way Bekah applies Trixie’s make-up. “You need to start using moisturizer, young lady, or you’re going to look like a stick of beef jerky by the time you’re thirty-five. You need to give your skin all the TLC you can.” Trixie closes her eyes and keeps them closed.

The bell jingles as Aunt Mathilda comes through the door. “Oh, Bekah--you are such an artist!” she exclaims.

“I had a pretty canvas to work with.” She’s unfastening the cape as she speaks, then spins Trixie to face the mirror. “Voila!”

Trixie stares wide-eyed at herself. Her sandy hair has lightened from working outdoors to the color of ripe wheat. Bekah has pruned it and coaxed it to swirl around her face in becoming ringlets. It’s the make-up that brings her reverie to a screeching halt. Specifically, the bright red lipstick. “I look like a vampire after happy hour,” she gasps in consternation. The only other time in her life she’s worn lipstick this color was undercover as a ‘bad’ girl on Cobbett’s Island, a million years ago….

“Don’t mind her,” Aunt Mathilda murmurs. “She only ever wears pink lipstick--very dull pink. I think she’s only got the one tube.”

“Two,” Trixie corrects her, still gazing at her image. “I bought a replacement when I thought I’d lost one.”

“Throw them both out,” Bekah tells her firmly. “Here, put this in your purse.”

Purse? Trixie accepts the tube of lipstick dumbly, staring at it. ‘Ruby Woo’ it says discretely on its tiny label. Usually she wears jeans--with pockets. 

“Put it in here.” Aunt Mathilda hands her a store bag from Wardrobe of Wonder. It contains a clutch with a wrist strap, the perfect size for Trixie’s phone, keys and lipstick. 

“But--my wallet!”

“Tuck your driver’s license into that little zippered compartment and don’t work about the rest of it,” Aunt Mathilda tells her briskly. “Get a move on, Jupiter’s going to be here any minute!”

Her new bag goes perfectly with the blue in her blue and white dress. Red, white and blue…when she looks at the total picture, the cosmetic effect is less jarring. 

When Jupe arrives freshly showered and shaved, looking very handsome in his ‘good’ clothes, he takes one looks at her and whistles. Any blush Bekah may have used is superfluous at this point. A glance at her reflection in the window shows that there’s still a bright pop of color countering Trixie’s flush of embarrassment.

Thank goodness for Ruby Woo lipstick!


	9. The Matter With Lemons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trixie Belden and Jupiter Jones, lemonade, cake and shenanigans...

“When life gives you lemons, make lemonade?” 

Trixie looks up from the kitchen island where she’s working. Ingredients are set out in front of her and she’s mixing something up in a big bowl. There are also several one-gallon jugs in a row.

Jupiter stands in the doorway to her bedroom, having entered dome through the backdoor. He looks amused.

“Mart and Ben are out making produce deliveries,” she explains. “I thought I’d have some refreshments ready when they got back.”

“So you made three gallons of lemonade?”

Her nose crinkles endearingly. “I’m so used to picking tons of fruit for marmalade that I grabbed a whole bushel out of habit. So there’s three different kinds--rosemary, mint and plain.”

“Why not put it in the fridge to chill?” Jupe suggests.

This earns him a jaundiced look. “Because there’s no room in the fridge. Leftovers aside, there’s a monster plate of sandwiches and a cake cooling so I can frost it.”

“Sandwiches, cake and what’s that you’re making?”

“Pasta salad with tuna fish.”

“I’ve never understood that,” Jupe remarks. At her raised eyebrows, he continues. “Tuna fish. I could see differentiating between types of eggs, for example--chicken eggs, duck eggs and so on--but who’s going to say, ‘I had bacon pig with my chicken eggs for breakfast.’?”

Trixie sighs and dumps chopped celery into the bowl. He saunters over to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Don’t you think you’re going a little overboard, sweetheart?”

”You don’t know Mart. He’s like one of those birds that can eat three times its own weight every day. I’m hoping if I have enough food ready when they get back, I won’t have to cook tonight.”

“I’ll take you out to dinner,” he promises. “How’s that?” She tips her head back to look up at him, and he kisses her forehead, just below her hairline.

“Chinese?” she asks hopefully. “Rickshaw?”

“As you wish.” The food is good and it’s budget-friendly. Jupe considers himself a very lucky man--not only is his girlfriend smart and cute, she’s remarkably low-maintanence! He knows guys whose ladies get downright ugly when they’re denied lavish dinners, trips to exotic destinations, bling. Trixie loves watching the sun set into the Pacific, collecting shells and driftwood, and the priciest thing she’s ever asked him for is…he can’t think of anything. “What can I can help you with?”

“Sit over there and don’t distract me, or I’m liable to end up adding the powdered sugar to the pasta salad.”

“And frosting the cake with it?” He grins.

“Well,” Trixie pretends to consider it. “It’s a lemon cake, and lemon goes pretty good with tuna--” She bites back the habitual ‘fish’. “But I’d rather not.” She finishes the concoction and swaps it for the cake in the fridge.

Watching her whip up a batch of buttercream frosting gives Jupe curious feelings…there is nothing inherently erotic about combining confectioner’s sugar, butter and flavorings. Still, the look of concentration on her face reminds him of other occasions she’s focused a particular goal….

“What are those bits in the sugar?” he asks to distract himself. 

“Lemon zest--I put it in there ahead of time to--” She pauses, looking for the word. “infuse the flavor into the sugar.”

It’s like watching a cooking show as she assembles the cake…albeit a cooking show where he’s seen the cook naked and is sorely tempted to ravish her and what she’s preparing. Jupiter licks his lips.

“What are you thinking right now?” she asks, distributing frosting onto the sides of the cake, spinning the turntable with one hand as she wields the spreader with the other..

“How much I’d like to cover you in icing and lick it off.”

Trixie stops. “And here I thought you were lusting after the cake.” He shakes his head, and she grins. Bowl in one hand, spatula in the other, she skips over to the bedroom door. “What are you waiting for?” she croons. “I’m gonna give you some sugar!”

Jupe give a last glance to the raggedly finished product of her labors. “Want to bring that? They’re liable to decimate it; you won’t get any after all your hard work.”

“No big deal--life gave me lemon trees--I can always make more.”


	10. Tropical Paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trixie Belden and Jupiter Jones and a lot of rainbow sherbet

Jupiter leaves the salvage yard with a credenza and returns with a dolly stacked full of industrial-sized drums of ice cream. “I stopped in for a cone, and their freezer was broken.”

“You didn’t offer to fix it?” Aunt Mathilda asks.

“Yeah, but the guy said it would have voided the warranty. And the serviceman couldn’t get out to fix it til tomorrow afternoon, so I made him an offer--I got all this for $25!” Jupe says gleefully.

“Mercy, goodness, sweetness and light! Where are we going to put it all?”

“I can haul a freezer in from the yard and set it up out by the laundry room,” he answers, smiling in anticipation of enough ice cream to last for months.

He’s hauling the biggest upright freezer they have--which is actually the only upright they have at the moment--when Trixie trots up. “Do you need help with that? Steering, maybe? Because you’ve way off course for the front gate.”

“I’m taking it to the house,” he puffs, yanking at the dolly, which is stuck in a rut. “I just got a mega-deal on some ice cream.” Trixie lends her weight to the endeavor and they finally get their burden to the roofed-over area by the Jones’s back door. Triumphantly, Jupe plugs it in. 

“Golly!” Trixie gasps when she sees the bounty. “When you said ice cream, you weren’t kidding!”

The trouble is, it doesn’t all fit in the upright. Even after Jupe pulls out his faithful Swiss Army knife and cuts some of the containers down to the level of the ice cream to stack them, there still isn’t quite enough room. Something’s got to go…one cylinder is down to the last couple of cups at the bottom, so Jupe grabs that.

“Let’s go take a break and kill this thing,” he suggests. 

They grab two spoons from the kitchen and Jupe heads to one of the patio tables in the garden center. “And here I thought you’d want to take it back to Headquarters and lick it off me,” Trixie teases.

“Believe me, I considered it, but Aunt Mathilda would have suspected what was really going on, so here we are, in plain sight, clearly not doing anything. Your reputation is intact.”

“Ha!” Trixie digs in. “I didn’t tell her about us, but she knows things.” She doesn’t look too troubled by the thought.

The label on the container identifies it as “Tropical Paradise”, a multi-hued concoction of mango, coconut, banana and lime. It’s pretty good; for what Jupe paid, it’s downright delicious. They take turns digging into the cold goodness.

“This is like the punch my mom used to make,” Trixie says. “For grown-up parties, like her Thanksgiving Open House, it was tea-based punch with a lemonade ice ring from a Bundt pan. But for us kids, when we had birthday parties, it was some kind of powdered drink mix and she’d dump a quart of rainbow sherbet into it to keep it cold. Messy, but fun.”

He loves listening to Trixie reminisce about her childhood. It’s so completely different from his own experience that sometimes he thinks they don’t have anything in common. Then she’ll talk about some mystery she solved, and he’s reminded of what they share.

Finally, they’re both surfeited with Tropical Paradise. There’s one hearty serving left; it seems a shame to waste it. “Go for it,” Jupe tells her. “I think I’m done.”

“Me too,” Trixie says mournfully. She looks at the colorful, gooeyness and brightens. “I know! I’m going to see if Aunt Matilda has a smaller container I can put this into, and I’ll take it over to Mr. Przewalski. I’ll bet he’d love a cold treat on a day like this!” She springs up from the table and grabs the drum.

Jupe is humbled. He’s known Mr. Przewalski since forever, but it simply wouldn’t have occurred to him to offer the last of the ice cream to the old man. He catches Trixie’s arm and pulls her in for a kiss. 

“I love you.”

She blinks, blue eyes wide. What came over him? He’s never said that to her--heck, he’s never said it to anyone he wasn’t related to before.

“That’s good,” she says awkwardly. “Because I think I love you, too.”

He stands there in a daze as she races away, is still standing there when she returns a couple minutes later with a blue and white container that once held sour cream. In passing, she gives him a shy smile and continues on her errand of kindness.

Nothing is sweeter than this moment, he thinks. Not even ice cream.

..


	11. Gray Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A gargoyle comes into the salvage yard and Hans and Konrad don't like it.

The boss has made another buying trip. When Hans and Konrad arrive at Jones Salvage Yard the morning after, it’s to find the sorting shed glutted with new merchandise.

“What do you think,” Konrad asks his brother, “some kind of farm center?”

“Seems like,” is Hans’s phlegmatic answer. He experimentally hefts a length of some like of irrigation pipe. There are also a lot of used plastic plant pots nested together--several dozen of them. Well, those will probably sell…eventually.

There’s a familiar rattling sound, and Trixie pulls the little red wagon she uses to move things into the shed. “Good morning!” she says cheerfully and starts piling plant pots into the wagon. “We got some good stuff yesterday--the property was being used as a grow house, but the guy got arrested for something else, and his lease was up, so the owner wanted his stuff out--anyway, Uncle Titus wants those pipes over with the cold frames and such.”

Konrad smiles. They like Trixie, who is always friendly and works hard. Jupiter is sweet on her, which is cute, like a Saint Bernard trying to flirt with a dachshund. “Good morning. Did we get any of what they were growing?”

She laughs. “No! I don’t know what happened to that, but the pots were all empty when we got there.” She pulls the wagon out of the shed, probably headed toward the garden center by the front gate.

The irrigation pipes are PVC, more bulky than heavy; they get it all moved in three trips. Then there’s a big roll of carpet. Clearly, that’s housewares. Konrad thinks he can get it single-handedly, starts to lift it, sees whats behind it, and lets go with a yell.

The carpet thumps to the floor of the shed, revealing carved gray stone behind it. Hans steps over to see what’s alarmed his brother, sees it and crosses himself.

”Mein Gott,” Konrad says. “That old fellow belongs on the Frauenkirche. What is he doing here?!”

The gargoyle stares implacably back at them, looking so exactly like one they’d known as children in Nuremberg. Grandmama had often threatened them with it, saying that the Old One came down at night to snatch and punish bad boys. Their mother laughed; stories of the Old One have been keeping the town’s youngsters in line for generations. 

“You don’t think he’s here for us, do you?” Hans asks him.

Before Konrad can answer, Trixie is back with her wagon. “Can you get that rug out of the way, please?” she requests. Dumbly, he does so. Before his eyes, she lifts the Old One.

“Be careful!” Hans exclaims.

“”It’s okay,” she says, settling the gargoyle into the bed of the wagon. “It’s some kind of resin--it only weighs about twenty pounds.”

Konrad watches her go, troubled. It’s childish nonsense, he tells himself. He is a grown man--they both are!--no statue is going to come to life and chastise them for their sins.

Hans leans close and rests a hand on his arm. Speaking softly, as if the Old Old can possibly hear them, he murmurs, “What are we going to do?”

Konrad has no answer, but fortunately, the statue sells by noon, so there’s no need to do anything.


	12. Lucky Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trixie Belden and Jupiter Jones are watching an old werewolf movie together....
> 
> Not based on any actual movie.

“That was the cutest werewolf movie ever!” Trixie enthuses as the credits roll. “Usually werewolves are scary--who would’ve thought a rom-com?”

Supiter smiles at her. “I told you it wasn’t going to be scary,” he reminds her. “And I think it’s a novel twist on the usual ‘man gets bitten and turns into a wolf’ plot. Just imagine being a dog who gets bitten and turned into a man! All of a sudden, he can see really well, but he’s practically nose-blind.”

“It was funny when they found him in the cage at the shelter and turned him loose. But I felt so sorry for him--he couldn’t speak the language or read the signs--” She shakes her head. 

Of course, with her dyslexia, that would bother her. “It’s a good thing he met Josie,” Jupe tries to cheer her up. “She understood where he was coming from.”

“I loved how she couldn’t figure out where ‘that dog’ kept coming from,” Trixie chortles. “And then putting him to work as a therapy dog. I think in real life, there’s a little more to it, but it was so good! I got all teary-eyed when little Taylor talked for the first time.”

“I noticed,” Jupe remarks dryly. “Okay, think fast--if I was bitten by a werewolf and turned into a dog, what kind of dog would I be?”

She tilts her head, looking at him appraisingly. “Big. Dark. One of those big black dogs--”

“Mastiff? Cane Corso? Scottish Deerhound”

“I don’t think so. It’s Canadian…that’s it, a Newfoundland!” She looks smug. “They’re great watchdogs, but they’re also good with kids and they’re very cuddly. What kind of dog would I be, and don’t say ‘poodle’!”

“Poodles are really smart, I’ll have you know. A recent study ranked poodles as the second smartest breed overall, right behind border collies. But if you don’t identify with that--which you ought to!--then how about a cocker spaniel?”

Trixie looks wistful. “Honey had a cocker spaniel when I first met her,” she remembers. “A little black puppy named Bud…and he made a little girl named Sally very happy.” Jupe raises an eyebrow. “Her family had a black cocker that died,” she explains, “so Honey gave him to the Darnells. That was when we were hunting for Jim--I’ve told you about all that.” 

“And you grew up with a dog, right?”

“We got Reddy when my brother Bobby was just a baby. Now Bobby’s in junior high--I can’t believe it!--and Reddy has an awful lot of white on his muzzle. Moms says she gives him glucosamine supplements every morning.” 

Her smile is tinged with sadness, and Jupe hugs her gently. “He’s spent his whole life surrounded by Beldens? Lucky dog!”


	13. If You Had Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trixie has her heart set on being Tinkerbell for Halloween, but Jupiter flatly refuses to be Peter Pan. How can he make her happy while avoiding potential humiliation?

Jupiter is working in the sorting shed when Trixie comes in with a tan plastic box and sets it down with care.. It’s a portable record player, clearly older than either of them. It unfolds; the turntable is on the bottom, the speakers are on either side of it on the upper side. 

She plugs it in and pulls an LP from the stack he’s been sorting. One of K-tel’s Greatest Hits compilations; she doesn’t seem to care what it is. A moment later, Bill Withers is crooning “Lean on me, when you’re not strong--”.

“Good,” she says with satisfaction. “The tag says ‘as is’, so I wanted to make sure it actually played. How much overtime would I have to work to get that?”

“Why would you want it?” he blurts. “I mean, if you really want to go old-school retro, I can get you a much better player than that.”

“Oh, it isn’t for me. I’m planning to swap it with Tammy at the Costume Corner.” He stares at her, so she explains, “You know that Halloween party we’re throwing out at the farm? Well, growing up, I was always scarecrows and hobos and farmers or whatever else Moms could make me out of Brian’s and Mart’s hand-me-downs. Which, as you can imagine, were in shreds by the time they got to me.

“I always wanted--oh, don’t laugh,” she implores, looking up at him as Sweet declares that Little Willy won’t, won’t go home. “I really wanted to be Tinkerbell. I know that’s crazy, I was the world’s biggest tomboy when I was a kid--but I always wanted wings and cute shoes with little pom-poms--”

She’s run out of steam; now she’s gazing at him in a way he can’t possibly refuse. “That old thing? You can have it with my blessing. Call it a perk of the job. What are you trading it for?”

Trixie squeals and throws her arms around him. “Some perfect, perfect wings!” she carols. “Tammy happened to mention that her old record player died, and she wanted to find another one, because there are too many commercials on the radio and it ruins the mood in the store.”

”So you’re going to play ‘Let’s Make a Deal’?” Jupiter chuckles.”You’ve been here too long, sweetie. You’ve been corrupted!” He kisses her. “Why bother spending money when you can trade for what you want? Aunt Mathilda would swap plumbing fixtures for groceries, if she could.”

Barry White is crooning something low and sexy…Jupe puts his arms around Trixie and they slow-dance around the shed. Jupe is stymied. He’d been going to suggest they dress in his and hers costumes, but she’s so eager to be Tinkerbell that he hasn’t got the heart to discourage her. But his and hers costumes? Not a chance. He adores Trixie with all his heart, and she’s going to be absolutely perfect as the petite fairy--but no way in hell is Jupiter Jones going to be caught dead in green tights!

Jupiter Jones is nothing if not resourceful. Faced with a girlfriend whose heart is set upon being Tinkerbell for Halloween, he has to employ all his grey matter to figure out how he can garb himself in something complementary without putting himself in green tights.

Green tights would be easy enough to find, but he’d feel ridiculous in them and would doubtless spend the whole party in an agony of embarrassment. He hates being laughed it; this would likely end up with him being called the Jolly Green Giant for the rest of his life. While the crowd that usually gathers at Belden Farms is a pretty good bunch, he’s not going to take that chance. But upon reflection, he has a suitable alternative to Peter Pan.

He’s friends with the costume master at the Rocky Beach Playhouse, so that’s his first stop. There’s a red coat left over from some long-ago performance of 1776 that fits him perfectly. He comes away with the loan of that and a pooffy white shirt, huzzah!

A guy he was in school with has horses, and is able to supply him with a pair of black boots--they were his dad’s, and he’d left years ago, so good riddance, Jupe’s welcome to them.

Rummaging in a thrift store gets him two cheap belts to put on the boots for their buckles, a long black wig and a pair of old pants that are baggy enough to pass as breeches. A few hours in the salvage yard workshop gives him other necessary accouterments. There’s just one crucial item he hasn’t been able to source locally.

Fortuitously, Jupe’s online search turns up a place in nearby Los Angeles that has exactly what he requires. Jupe takes the truck and zooms down there. Success! His costume is complete!

On the evening of the Belden Farms Halloween party, Jupe wheels in a large garment bag and asks if he can use the large bathroom to change in. Fifteen minutes later, he emerges garbed as Captain Hook.

Trixie squeals. “Oh my gosh, that’s amazing!” She already has on her Tinkerbell ensemble, adorable from topknot to pom-pommed shoes.

“I’ve got to get a picture of the two of you!” Mart grins, showing off his fangs. He’s casually attempting a Lost Boys-esque vampire, with a leather jacket over tee shirt and jeans. 

Ben is dressed all in black and has covered all visible skin with green greasepaint (adding a few scars with black eyeliner). A transparent strip of plastic holds his neck-bolts in place. He’s also quick to snap photos of the couple.

Jupiter is thankful that he’s put as much effort into his own costume, from the tricorn hat with its plume to the tarted-up riding boots. He’d sanded the rust off an old machete and given it a coat of silver paint, making sure it wasn’t sharp enough to actually behead anyone. He has a cup that fits over his hand that he can grip, topped with a similarly dull hook. He’s even braided a queue out of the wig--it’s attached to the inner back of the hat.

They admire each other’s costumes, although Trixie teases that her brother should have started planning earlier so he could grow out his hair for a mullet. 

Scads of guests are soon milling around the dome--Pete Crenshaw is Indiana Jones, while his significant other makes a great Lara Croft. Bekah has gone full-on Cleopatra, and looks amazing. Henrietta Larson has turned up as a Regency dandy--probably so she can show off her sword-cane--and to Jupe’s utter astonishment, Hans and Konrad arrive--with beer--as Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dee. Even Tammy from the Costume Corner has turned up in a poodle skirt and saddle shoes.

It’s amazing how many people they know--neighbors, people they’ve helped, Jupe’s friends from school--and they’re all having a great time. There’s a full house tonight, even expanding up to the loft. Jupe hopes that Mart and Ben have secured any paraphernalia of an intimate nature. 

“I may have to take off my wings,” Trixie says to him after a while. “I didn’t realize how much extra space they take up!”

“That’s too bad. They’re very pretty and they’re just right with those sparkly tights.”

“Well,” she murmurs, leaning in and lowering her voice, “if you really like them, I can always wear them again when it’s just us…without the tights.”

..


	14. Zombie---Romance?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Participating in a zombie run for charity has some drawbacks.

“Eww! Don’t touch me!”

“What, you don’t want me to kiss you?” Jupiter pretends to be hurt.

“No!” Trixie glares at him. “Not with that disgusting make-up on!”

Jupe admires his reflection in the mirror. Stage make-up has been one of his multitudinous hobbies over the years, and he’s done a superlative job today if he does say so himself. This will be the first time he’s ever tried to perform an athletic endeavor so enhanced, but it’s for a good cause.

His girlfriend gives him a less-than-affectionate look. “I can’t believe you’re going out in public like that.”

“It’s a simple 2-K run,” he replies equitably, tilting his head to look at the peeling skin effect with ‘muscles’ showing beneath it. “ I do that a couple times a week anyway.”

Since his high school days on the wrestling team, Jupiter has made a practice of running, if not every single day, at least five times a week. It keeps him in shape--the fact that Aunt Mathilda has started cooking meals with reduced fat and sodium to help Uncle Titus’s cholesterol doesn’t hurt. California culture still considers him stocky, but nobody is going to tag him with his childhood nickname of Baby Fatso, either.

“You look so…icky.” 

“I told you,” he says, pulling on his sun visor. “It’s a Zombie Run to benefit the Early Learning Center.”

“I know,” Trixie answers, keeping her distance as if he’ll bite. “It’s just…zombies leave me cold.”

…


	15. The Thought That Counts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The longer Jupe knows Trixie, the better he knows how to make her happy.

That first year at Christmastime, Jupe had only known Trixie for a couple of months. She loved old movies, and who doesn’t love Disney? It isn’t until later that he realized a door-stop sized book on the subject--even one lavishly punctuated with photographs--may not have been the best choice for a dyslexic.

The following Christmas, things are different. He knows her so much better now. He’d arranged to upgrade her living quarters as a birthday gift; he plans a further contribution to that…that still seems too small. Jupiter is skilled with tools and has access to a wealth of material provided by the salvage yard, but somehow putting components together isn’t enough. He knows the old saying, ‘It’s the thought that counts.’--and he thinks of Trixie a lot. 

He gets an inkling of an idea when they clear out the estate of a man who’d apparently had a penchant for audio books. Trixie oohs and ahhs over a herd of Louis L’Amour westerns-- “I’ve seen some of the movies they made of these, but I had no idea he wrote so many books!” she exclaims, flipping through the packages.

“Take them--you can always bring them in when you’re done, if you don't want them,” he suggests. Most of the damn things are on cassettes--not exactly best sellers at the salvage yard.

Trixie drives twenty minutes each way between the farm and the yard most days, and soon she starts giving him recaps of what she’s listening to. He gets the low-down on wagon trains, range wars and bushwackers…while he doesn’t particularly care about the genre, he soon notices that though Trixie may have problems retaining and summarizing the written word, she has no such difficulty repeating what she hears. The bards of old must have spun such tales with voice alone, Jupe thinks.

On the afternoon of December 25th, Jupe shows up at Belden Farms with a large box.

There’s giggling coming from the loft--Trixie shakes her head and says he really doesn’t want to know--and hands him a box which divulges a new pair of running shoes--in the correct size of his preferred brand, which is a fairly munificent gift. He thanks her profusely; not only is that something he’ll definitely use, she must, at some point, have had to handle one of his old shoes to ferret out the size so accurately.

Jupe presents her with the box. The outermost box contains a board painted in crackle-finished violet, drilled with a row of holes--and another box. 

“That’s a nice color,” she says, looking at the board, puzzled, “but what is it?”

“Keep going.”

The box inside the first box has several antique doorknobs and...another box.

“I’ll mount the doorknobs on the board--that’s what the holes are for,” he explains. “You can use it to hang towels or maybe your bathrobe on.”

“What a cool idea! And I love that color, it’s like a patch of grape hyacinths!” she exclaims.

The next box has two carefully sealed plastic bags, one with assorted mounting hardware, the other has a jam jar of purple touch-up paint.

Trixie picks up the newest box, which doesn’t weigh much. She shakes it tentatively. “Well, it’s too small to be a mink coat to hang on my new coat-rack,” she jokes. “Is it a teeny-tiny little piece of lingerie?”

She unwraps the layers of plain white paper it’s wrapped in. The box itself is a nice example of carved “tramp” art, and Jupe hadn’t wanted to risk it being damaged. There’s a scene of a little cottage carved into the soft wood of an old cigar box, embellished with swirling scroll-work. “How sweet!” 

He’s starting to think she’ll never open it, but finally she does. It contains a piece of paper folded into quarters; she picks it up and unfolds it, slowly….

“’Audio Book of the Month Club’?”

“I’ve already got you enrolled,” he explains. “That’s your user ID and log in…you get two books a month, any two you want, for a whole year. You can play them on your laptop or your phone or put them on a USB drive and play them in the car--”

Trixie throws her arms around him “That’s fantastic! Thanks so much, Jupe!”

“Why don’t we go into your room? I’ll put that together and hang it up while you get online…that way, if you have any trouble, I’ll be right there.”

By the time the purple board with its knobs of glass, brass and nickel has been mounted neatly on the pink wall to the right of the bathroom doors, Trixie has logged into the site and gleefully made her first selection.

“I got this from the library once, but I don’t think I made it past chapter two,” she sighs. “It sounded fascinating but I just couldn’t get into it…wow, that looks like a piece of sculpture or something!” Trixie eyes the installation on the wall. “I like all the different-shaped knobs and the way everything sparkles…the contrast between the pink and that violet is gorgeous.”

Jupe almost blushes, he’s so pleased by her compliments.

Trixie shuts down her laptop. She smiles, pats the space beside her on the bed and purrs, “Why don’t you come over here, and let me thank you properly….”

“Great idea!” he agrees, peeling off his shirt, “and I’ve got the perfect place to hang my clothes!”

…


	16. Two Trixies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trixie is baby-sitting her namesake. Jupiter isn't sure how he feels about that.

When Jupiter walks into the dome, he reels at the sight confronting him: Trixie, smiling, cooing and moving around the kitchen with a baby on her hip. Even frantically subtracting the current date (November) from that of their initial coitus (June) is only a little reassuring. It would be impossible for her to have had a baby, must less one that can be held upright, looking around--nevertheless, it’s daunting to see how comfortable his girlfriend seems to be with the infant. 

“Where did you find that?” he inquires. “Under a head of cabbage in the garden?”

“Hey now! That’s my namesake you’re talking about! You remember the Archuletas, don’t you? They haven’t had an evening out together since she was born, so I volunteered to keep an eye on Beatriz for them.” Trixie jiggles the baby, who gurgles happily. “Were we supposed to be doing something? I’m sorry! I didn’t remember--”

Jupe sets his camera bag down on one of the chairs ringing the dining table. “No, I thought I’d take you to see the Day of the Dead parade in town,” he explains. “You didn’t go last year, did you?”

“No. That’s where Luis and Angela went…and Mart and Ben. But what’s the big deal? It’s basically Mexican Halloween.”

“There’s a lot more to it than that!” Jupe protests. 

Trixie sighs. “I know, I know. It’s sour grapes on my part. I was going to go with the guys--but when Luis called, I let him talk me into sitting. Usually Angela’s mom or sister keeps her, but her sister is riding on a float in the parade, so of course their mom wants to see that. They were worried that it might be too much stimulation for her--yes, you!”

Although the baby’s hair is dark and Trixie’s is the color of ripe wheat, both faces are framed by a nimbus of curls. Trixie’s gentle smile is echoed by the look of glee her namesake wears. It’s easy to imagine them as mother and child, if, for instance, the father had dark hair….

“You brought your camera and everything--I wish I’d known!” She looks rueful, and the baby squeals like she’s about to lose her sunny disposition. “Tsk-tsk-tsk! We’re going to have a lovely evening! You can go to the parade, Jupe. I don’t mind,” she adds paranthetically. “I’m going to be tied up with her til ten or so.”

“Abandon you?” he asks in mock-horror. “Leave you all alone with a baby in the middle of nowhere? Haven’t you ever seen any slasher films? That’s how they all start.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I brought a movie in case you wanted to stay in.”

“What, _Halloween_?”

“Nope. _Coco_ ;! It’s family friendly, even if she isn’t really old enough to appreciate it. The only other movie with Day of the Dead I could think of was _Once Upon a Time in Mexico_ \--

“I’ve seen that!” Trixie interrupts eagerly. “Somebody in one of my film classes recommended it--"

That’s one of the things he loves about Trixie, jupe reflects as she rattles on. Whatever it is she does, she does it whole-heartedly, whether it’s baby-sitting or making marmalade or viewing movies.

“--but you’re right, that’s not something she needs to be exposed to,” Trixie concludes.

He busies himself with his camera; he’s never known anyone else who was so unabashedly themselves. Just Trixie.

“Smile pretty, Bea! We’ll get a nice picture of you for Mama and Papi!”

She’s doing it again--it never fails to blow him away. He was thinking of it as a picture of her, while she’s thinking of a picture for the baby’s parents. She’s so selfless--like the way she takes lunch to Mr. Przewalski on days she works in town.

“You’re going to have some of Auntie Trixie’s strawberry-rhubarb compote! And we’re going to see the movie Uncle Jupiter brought! And hopefully, you’re going to fall asleep before I do!” Trixie chants to the baby, who looks suitably enthralled.

Jupe gets a few images of Beatriz, but the baby alone isn’t who he wants to capture. There’s a Madonna-and-Child quality about the pair. Trixie’s face is soft as she engages with the baby she helped deliver, and clearly the baby is equally smitten with her. The light over the stove behind them is almost like a halo.

Jupiter isn’t at all superstitious. He considers himself a scientist; he likes facts and evidence. However, he can’t help but feel as if, somehow, he is taking pictures of the future. 

_…_


	17. Peppermint

“Hey Jupe--there’s been an accident--there’s a kid hurt. Trixie’s patching her up.”

Jupe puts down his soldering iron at Konrad’s words and jogs toward the first aid station near the front of the salvage yard. 

Despite the large sign that says: “We will not be responsible for injuries to unaccompanied minors”, he’s still worried. It isn’t just a question of screwing up their insurance; he doesn’t want to see any kid hurt. 

Sitting on an overturned five-gallon bucket is a fair-haired moppet who can’t be much more than seven--she’s got that gap-toothed grin, responding to whatever Trixie is saying as she deftly wipes the child’s cut leg with a prepackaged swab. 

“I’ll bet you like to draw,” Trixie guesses, taping gauze over the long gash. “I loved to draw when I was your age--mostly horses.”

“Draw me a horsie!”

“Let me get this taken care of and I will! There! You’re not going to go climbing around on stacks of tires any more, are you?” 

“No, Miss Trixie!” 

“Good. Let’s see if I still remember what a horse looks like.” Trixie pulls a pad of sticky notes from her apron pocket and begins sketching.

He’s seen her baby-sitting an infant, but clearly she’s just as good with kids as they get older. Good grief, it’s alarming how he reacts to seeing her when she gets maternal like this--all the more because she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. She makes his emotions careen wildly out of control, but there are no brakes with Trixie--he can’t stop….

“What do you think, Holly?” She pulls the top page from the pad. “For you, because you’ve been such a great little patient!”

“Mommy! Look!”

The suburban mom who flits past Jupiter looks panic-stricken.

“Holly’s okay,” Trixie reassures her. “Apparently she was climbing on a stack of tires that fell over with her, and we aren’t sure what she cut herself on. You’ll probably want to check with your family doctor to make sure she’s up to date on her tetanus inoculations.”

Sensible of Trixie not to say ‘shots’. “I taped her up, but she might need…some embroidery.” Or ‘stitches’.

For a moment, Holly’s mother looks baffled, then she nods. “I’ll call Dr. Franklin’s office right now,” she says. “Baby, what were you thinking? You could have been badly hurt!”

Holly looks like she’s going to start wailing at any moment. Trixie heads her off with, “Can Holly have a peppermint?” They keep them on hand in case anyone has an attack of low blood sugar, including employees in a late-afternoon slump.

“Oh, please, Mommy?” 

Mommy yields, perhaps realizing she’s averting a louder crisis. “Look at the beautiful picture Miss Trixie drawed me!” the child is prattles as she trots beside her mother toward the exit.

Jupe steps up beside Trixie. “What about me, Mama Hen?” he teases. “Can I have a peppermint?”

She smiles--that smile would melt glass, much less something as tender as his heart. “You’re not going to go climbing on the tires, are you?” is her mock-ferocious question.

“No, Miss Trixie! Was that her idea or yours, by the way?”

“Her teacher’s name is Miss Susan, she said, so I guess that’s her formula for being polite to grown-ups.”

“Ha. That’s a technicality.” She’s unwrapped the peppermint, and he watches as she places it on her tongue, then leans forward for a kiss. It’s minty, of course, with an undertone of apples. Breathless in its wake, Jupe says, “Trixie, you may grow older, but you’ll never grow old.”

…


	18. Life's a Beach

On days when the traffic is minimal, when no one is shifting materiel with a forklift, you can hear the sound of the waves from Jones Salvage Yard. Being a short block and a half to the ocean isn’t the best location for a business like that--the salt air causes rust overnight on some of the more cheaply made metal items they get--but Trixie loves being able to go for a walk on the beach after work. Sometimes, if it’s been a tiring day, she’ll go and just sit, watching the sun drift down below the horizon in glorious, ever-shifting colors.

It isn’t as if she never saw the ocean before--a few days at the shore had always been the Belden family’s vacation of choice while she was growing up. At least every other year, they’d spend a few days in some seaside town within a few hours drive of Sleepyside. And there was that memorable week on Cobbett’s Island with the Bob-Whites….

That was a different ocean, a different life, it feels like. Compared to the placid Pacific and the mellow California lifestyle, the East Coast seems dull and uninviting. Yes, she misses her old friends, but their lives are all going in different directions. Trixie’s life has brought her here, and she’s made new friends. With a phone call, she can reach out to a shopping buddy, a cycling partner or someone to go to a movie with. And then, she can go do it, without having to do more than let Ben or Mart know they’re on their own for dinner that evening--no big explanations of when/where/who necessary. It’s such a relief to be an independent adult!

Often, Jupiter tags along on her after-hours migration to the beach. He runs along the high-tide line most mornings, and has remarked more than once that it’s pleasant to simply enjoy the ocean without having to do anything except hold Trixie’s hand. Mostly the couple sits quietly, watching the sky deepen from blue to peach to purple and orange, Trixie’s head resting against Jupe’s shoulder. The gulls squawk a raucous counterpoint to the steady sweep of the tide. 

This is home, Trixie thinks, and whether she means her Pacific perch or Jupiter’s company, she’d be hard-pressed to say.

…


	19. Courtroom Drama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trixie takes the stand.

Trixie waits to testify, telling herself there’s nothing to be afraid of. It should only take a couple minutes to tell what she saw, then it’ll be done. 

It’s hard not to be nervous, though. Everyone is focused on the drama at the front of the courtroom, where the defense attorney stands proclaiming his client’s innocence. Soon, they’ll all be looking at her, listening to what she has to say…Trixie moans inwardly. Everybody encouraged her to do this, but now that the day is here, the enthusiasm she’s felt has evaporated.

It doesn’t help that she’s been stuck in an unfamiliar linen suit--stiff and formal, nothing like her usual wardrobe, even when she dresses up. Her face feels like a mask behind all the make-up she’s wearing. 

“How did I let myself get talked into this?” she breathes, wishing Jupiter was here, wishing she didn’t feel so alone.

The man standing beside her rests a hand on her shoulder. “You’ll be fine, Trixie,” he replies in an equally low tone. He winks at her, reminding her that yes, she does have friends here, and she will get through this.

“Call your first witness!” the judge commands.

Trixie moves forward, entering the witness box to be sworn in. The prosecutor smiles at her. He’s a good guy, although she’s never seen this side of him up close. He’s been friendly enough in social situations--and she isn’t the one on trial. She glances toward the table where the accused glares back at her.

The prosecutor leads her through her story. How she’d been interviewing at Thrace Enterprises and entered the lobby just in time to see Nathan Baxter being shot.

“And is that shooter in the courtroom now?”

Taking a deep breath, Trixie points toward the accused. “It was her!”

The dark-haired woman leaps to her feet. “That’s a lie!” she screams. “I didn’t do it! I loved him!”

In the gallery, her young husband looks stricken.

“You’re even wearing the same dress you had on that day!” Trixie retorts.

The accused gasps and sinks back down into her chair. The courtroom buzzes with excitement. The judge thumps her gavel, calling, “Order! We will have order, or I’ll clear this courtroom.”

The prosecutor smiles like a shark. “No further questions, Your Honor.”

A voice calls out, “That’s a wrap!” and Trixie exhales.

“Great job, Trixie,” says prosecutor Wilton J. Parmenter III. As played by Don Dix, he’s been a mainstay on the daytime drama _Fame and Fortune_ since Trixie was in diapers. To him, this has been just another day’s work.

She smiles, grateful that she didn’t mess up and have to do it again. “Thank you.”

Her friend Angie, aka the accused Marigale, gives Trixie a hug. “A star is born!” she giggles. “Wasn’t that fun?”

Kirby, the producer, saves her from having to answer. “You were fabulous, Trixie!” he tells her as he joins them. “It’s only fitting that you got to accuse Marigale of the murder, since you’re the one who came up with the ‘falsely accused’ storyline.”

The good thing about all this make-up is that no one can tell how much she’s blushing. Ever since participating in an episode of the drama last summer, Trixie has been fielding calls from the show’s writers, who think her unofficial ideas are fresh and fun. Being an extra, which she’s done several times now, didn’t require any great ability on her part, but acting as the prosecution’s star witness is the first time she’s had to say or do anything.

“It’ll be great to watch it play out,” Trixie says modestly. She still considers herself more of a fan than anything else, even now. “Wait til they find out that it was Patricia in a wig who shot Nathan and gave Marigale the dress ‘for luck’ to frame her.”

“Was it?” says Kirby, grinning at her. 

“That’s what we talked about.” Trixie blinks at him. “You loved the idea.”

“Maybe we’ll go that way and maybe we won’t. You’ll just have to stay tuned.”

 

…


	20. Found Money

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pillow stuffed with money? All in a day's work at Jones Salvage Yard.

Although working at the salvage yard is frequently a dirty job, it occasionally has its perks. Trixie has Jupe’s blessing to keep any money she finds in the course of processing their incoming junk. She’s found coins in the bottom of old purses (including a 1941 Mercury dime), crumpled dollar bills in the pockets of discarded coats and on one memorable occasion, a $20 bill being used as a bookmark in a copy of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.

This, on the other hand…Trixie grabs her phone and texts Jupiter: I need you in sorting--urgent. Then she stares at the small cushion bulging with cash until her partner charges into the sorting shed.

“What’s wrong?” Trixie points, and Jupe gives a low whistle. “How much is it?”

“I have no idea.” She finds her voice. “I just--it didn’t feel right, it was kind of crackly instead of squashy, so I unzipped it--”

“Good catch. Let’s see….” He fishes wads of currency out of the neck roll pillow. “Wow, that’s all money, there’s no cushion at all.”

“Is it all real?” she asks in disbelief. There are rolls of bills with rubber bands around them, sheaves of folded bills, bills wadded up, bills smooth and crisp, all denominations. She sees Grant and Franklin among the portraits, and her eyes widen.

Jupe’s voice is hushed. “I’ve got one of those special pens, I can check--but I thinks so.” 

He’s busy sorting and counting it all, so Trixie takes a deep breath and continues emptying the box of mixed odds and ends the prize came out of. There’s nothing else exciting in there--it’s an assortment of table linens, a set of lace curtains, some embroidered dish towels…nothing to indicate who the former owner was, either. It was part of a box lot Uncle Titus brought back from Modesto shortly before Christmas, so tracing its provenance is doubtful.

“Holy moley,” Jupe says at last. “That’s close to twenty-four hundred dollars--two thousand, three hundred and eighty-six dollars, to be exact.”

“I know you said I could keep anything I found, but this isn’t like a handful of loose change.” Trixie shakes her head. “I can’t possibly.”

Jupe turns his back on the cash and kisses her. “You’re amazing. Hell, if you’d zipped it back up and said, ‘Can I have this?’, I would’ve said yes, you know.” 

“I couldn’t do that. Your aunt and uncle need that money. And they’ve been so nice to me--Uncle Titus got me that amazing saddle, and Aunt Matilda is always finding me clothes. Of course I can’t claim that money!”

“I’m sure they’ll be thrilled. They’ll want to give you a finder’s fee--you deserve some kind of reward.”

Trixie snuggles up against him. “You’re all the reward I want.”

…


	21. Young Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Mart and Ben say those three little words.

Before he met Mart Belden, Ben never used the word ‘love’ for any of his relationships--he wasn’t even sure relationships was the right word for them. They were just guys he fooled around with at various boarding schools or wherever, scratching an itch, sometimes amiably, other times virtually anonymous. As a great lady once asked, “What’s love got to do with it?”.

Mart is affectionate even when he isn’t trying to get Ben into bed. Ben starts laughing at Mart’s jokes because they’re funny, not out of fear of hurting his feelings. He’s always kept his distance from his fuck-buddies when they weren’t actually in bed, but Mart is so tender that little by little, he becomes comfortable with snuggling under the covers, cuddling on the couch, frolicking in the stock tank and making out amid the orange groves. 

Being treated as something other than an interchangeable sex toy is a new experience. He may not be making any cash-money working at Belden Farms, but Ben is welcomed in ways that make him feel valuable. He gets three meals a day, a comfortable place to sleep, and people actually care about his well-being. Mart is grateful for his hard work, and tells him so, regularly. (At first, Trixie intimidates him a little, but he soon realizes that she treats him with the same tartness as she does her brother.) It’s months before he can put a name to the experience: He has a family.

He’s shy about saying how much Mart means to him. How can he, when he isn’t sure that that word is even the right name for wheat he’s feeling? He’s afraid he’s overreacting to simple kindness.

Mast has no such qualms. They’re gathering eggs for delivery the next day. Ben makes certain each one is cleaned and don’t look like they fell out of a chicken’s butt, while Mart packages them neatly with Belden Farms signature gimmick of eleven Rhode Island Red eggs and one heirloom blue one. Maude, one of the Araucanas is pecking around his ankles, then manages to flutter up to the surface of the work bench, stretching her head toward the eggs. 

Ben picks the hen up, cradling her in the crook of his left arm, still industriously candling the eggs in front of him. “No, silly,” he tells the hen. “It won’t do any good for you to get all broody, these aren’t going to hatch no matter how long you sit on them.”

“That’s one of the things I love about you,” Mart quips. “You’re good with chickens.”

What? Ben stares at him, unable to believe what he’s just heard. “Chickens?!”

“You were terrified of them when you first got here. And now you’re the boss of the hen house.”

_One of the things he loves?_ “Well, it’s not fair to Trixie for me not to do what I can. I mean, she’s working at the salvage yard, which pays most of the bills, and putting up tons of marmalade, and cooking and cleaning. And they’re okay, once you get used to them.”

“I love how well you get along with Trixie. She’s pretty good as sisters go, I’d hate to have to choose between you. I love your work ethic. I’m not saying that just to stroke your ego,” he hastens to add. ”I wish I could begin to pay you what you’re worth, because I couldn’t keep this place going without you. I didn’t think through the idea of year-round farming--especially on a place this size!

“Bumping into you that day is the best thing that’s ever happened to me…because I don’t know how I would’ve kept going without you.” He abandons his packaging for a moment, leaning over to kiss Ben’s jaw. “I don’t just mean farming. I know I’m not the most experienced guy around, and you’re so sweet…I’m really lucky. I just hope I’m not too boring.”

Ben shakes his head. There’s a lump in his throat. He stoops and releases the hen, who waddles off in pursuit of one of her sisters. 

“You’re not boring,” he responds when he finds his voice again. “You’re kind and generous and reliable and funny…and I love you, too.”

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: Young love https://comment-fic.livejournal.com/957653.html


End file.
